


Ain't No John Wayne

by mitochondrials



Series: Tiny Reverse Bang'17 [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 1872
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 21:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitochondrials/pseuds/mitochondrials
Summary: Tony had moved on after the events of Steve's death. The best that he was able to, anyway. Except Steve made it out alive after all, and now Tony's left dealing with how to face him. Hint: At the bottom of a bottle.





	Ain't No John Wayne

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cap IM Tiny RB Round 2: Shellhead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11439375) by [cap_ironman_event_mod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cap_ironman_event_mod/pseuds/cap_ironman_event_mod). 



> This was supposed to be less than 500 words, _but alas_. The title was vaguely inspired by Paula Cole's "Where Have All The Cowboys Gone". I'd also like to note this hasn't been beta'd, thus all mistakes are mine and mine alone.  
>  But anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Tony hated admitting it, but he kept a star pressed close to his breast inside his coat pocket.

It wasn’t Steve’s. Steve’s belonged to Red Wolf now, as it should. But it gave Tony a sense of comfort either way.

He missed Steve, desperately so sometimes it weighed him down. It’d been several months since it all changed. The town, the people. All of it. He’d been doing good when it came to craving a sip of whiskey or a taste of wine. But sometimes he got so lost remembering Steve, and how the blood trailed in the dirt he had to hammer pieces of metal till they were junk just so the urge to give in would stop.

And, strangest of all, the rest of the town took him as kindly as they took the rest of each other. He avoided the bar and no one such as murmured the need for a drink when he was present.

His armor sparkled in the sunlight, standing at attention outside his very own building. _Stark Industries_. He was already making headway for the first patient on lamps powered by electricity instead of gas. In fact, he was the middle of trying to not shock himself several times building them.

It was never simple or quiet, however. No. Since Fisk was killed and Roxxon went silent, all sorts of vile, power-hungry idiots started trying to stake their claim on the place. _Bad guys always find a way_ , Tony mused. It’s just what happens. From swords to cannons, to guns. And now, to suits of armor.

The funny part was none of the said bad guys ever actually bothered with having armor. Or attempting to recreate it. It was always something far, far worse.

Pepper didn’t come down to remind him to close shop like she promised.

He managed to snag her as his assistant two months back, much to Carol Danvers lack of amusement. Pepper was efficient and was able to keep up with him. Plainly speaking, she refused to take any of his shit. But the important part was that she was easy to get along with and that Tony saw her as his friend, first and foremost.

He locked the door to his shop, then checked the main floor before locking the rest of it down too, making certain Pepper also didn’t forget her hat again while dutifully ignoring him.

She had left out her sherry. The bottle was corked, but her glass was still partly full like she’d ran mid-sip in a mad dash. Hell, she’d even left her nice, fancy sash behind too.

Tony dashed out the door, crashing into Widow Barnes instantly. “What is it now?” He groaned, aiming not to slip as he regained his balance.

“Red Wolf’s back.” Natasha, he mentally correct himself, said. Her face was pensive as she straightened herself out. “Peter came running back in shock, saying Rogers was with him.”

Tony froze, and then after a moment, burst out howling in laughter. He was instantly nauseous and felt the burning desire to taste something strong and bitter on his tongue. “Oh, this'll be good.” He said. Better deal with it now, he thought. There would plenty of fresh sheets of iron waiting for him when they got back.

“Pepper caught him before he could rile up the rest of the town.” She said, meaning Peter. 

“And of the imposter?” Tony asked, slowly boarding closer and closer to hysterical.

Natasha kept silent, leading him along towards the Sheriff’s office. He pressed his hand against the breast of his coat pocket, feeling the indent of the star beneath it.

_Same shit as always._

Whatever Parker thought he saw or didn’t would need to be dealt with regardless. It’s just the same shit, he repeated to himself. Same as it’s been since the beginning of forever.

“Tony,” Pepper startled him out from the darkness, taking hold of his shoulder, “I think you’d like to catch your breath.” She advised.

Right.

Natasha continued past, turning the corner.

He swallowed thickly.

“ _Right_. You’re always right when it comes to me and the overworking, and ... I left the shop open. I noticed you’d ran off without your things, and I was worried. And then, you know... this.” He gestured towards at empty, moonless street they were standing in. She merely frowned.  

“Yes,” She said, cautiously. “And I think perhaps you should rest while you're at it. I’ll come round early in the morning, make sure everything's okay.”

Tony agreed, apprehensive about continuing to follow Natasha. He wasn’t ever really alright. And no, he was most certainly not fine, but it was either turn around with his tail between his legs and stare at the ceiling till morning or break open the nearest drop of alcohol he could find because he didn’t know how to do this on his own.

Pepper would confirm his suspicions; later. In the morning.

He took a deep breath. _Nice and slow_ , he slowly calmed down. Nice and slow. This was all just a cruel hoax or it was a miracle. He’d pour Pepper’s glass out and lock up the rest till she returned, and he’d just keep breathing.

\---

Somehow he did manage to fall asleep, Pepper nudging him awake and setting the pocket watch he was fiddling with on the stool next to his bed. She seemed relaxed, and there was no look of impending dread clouding her eyes like he initially was expecting.

“A miracle then,” He said, voice rough with sleep.

“More like dumb luck and Fisk’s ability to miss the careful details because he was too high on the moment.”

Tony didn’t know what to say to that, processing her words. That meant that… that Steve hadn’t died?

Truly?

Sheriff Rogers was always a tough son of a fuck. He rivaled Tony’s wit on the best of days, always managing to impress Tony when Tony decided to fake being shit-faced someday's, convinced maybe that was the day it'd all get better. Not that it ever did, anyway. 

“What a fucking bastard,” He bit out. He felt his heart pick up speed, dread flooding the pit of his stomach forty times worse than it had last night.

Tony failed to be anything but a drunk before Steve was dead. Yet all it took was Steve dying and the unbearable pain Tony felt from losing him to push Tony forward. These last months gave Tony the time to reflect how much Steve truly meant to him; both as his dear friend and as someone Tony didn't realize he'd fallen in with. And how, at the end of it all, there wasn’t really a distinguishable distinction between the two.

Just believing Steve cherished his friendship as much as he did Steve’s... That, that was perfectly enough. He needed it to be.

“I can’t do this,” He said. Steve was going to take one look at his face and see everything Tony ever hid from.  _I need a drink_ , He  thought miserably, clenching the sheets between his fists. “Pep, I can’t, I…”

“It’s going to be okay,” She reassured him. “I know you can’t. Shh, I know." She reached for his hand. "Which, is why, I forced him to promise me he wouldn’t come bothering you till you were ready. Mercy me did he flashed me the worst set of puppy-dog eyes I’d ever seen.”

That made Tony chuckle, “Stop pitying me and go make sure Parker doesn’t accidentally set half the building on fire in his eager enthusiasm again.”

“Or course, Mr. Stark.” She smiled softly, getting up.

“Always a pleasure, Ms. Potts.” He was able to smirk, waving her off.

_God oh god, I need a drink._

“But I can do this.” He said to himself once she had left. “I can. Pep’ll handle the shop and I’ll handle being a hermit for a couple days.”

Steve had waited for him. That's he kept reminding himself, making his way toward the workshop dressed in a fresh pair of hemmed trousers and an old, beat up shirt. Steve was waiting for him now, and wasn’t that wonderful? His Steve was actually alive. Heart beating, blood pumping; not dead. Not gone. 

It inexplicably stung, and he flop-flopped between being numb and ecstatic. God, Steve was alive. _Steve was alive._

Steve would understand. He was always a kind and gentle man, patient when it mattered. He'd be happy to learn Tony discovered how horrid singing sober genuinely was. 

\---

Tony isolated himself for two straight weeks. His urge to drink swayed only by the comfort of his bed and the sound of metal denting beneath the blow of his hammer.

No one said such as a word about it. No one pressured him or pushed him farther than he desired to be pushed.

Natasha scowled at him from time to time when visiting Pepper, but she understood.

\---

He got himself to make a round or two days later on the main floor. It was bustling with customers and fans alike when he stopped dead, eyes locking with Steve’s beautiful pair of blues. They widened, hopeful, as Steve hesitantly stepped forward, breaking into a smile.

Scars marred Steve’s face, and his hair seemed a few inches shorter than Tony had remembered.

“Tony,” He mouthed, his voice drowned out by the crowd.

Tony bolted behind the counter, using the stairs to reach the storage room. He blew off the lock to the safe with a set of faulty repulsors he deemed beyond upgrading and smashed open the first bottle he saw. It was his petty sense of self-satisfaction that convinced him storing all his most favorite, and most expensive brand of whiskey here was proper proof he’d beaten the unending need to drink.

_Fuck._

He welded the door shut, ignoring Pepper’s desperate cries, and later, Pepper’s carefully hidden sorrow when she tore the door right off it's hinges.

\---

“You were bound to relapse sooner or later,” Pepper said, bringing him a cup of chamomile tea. “It’s not a straight line from alcoholism to cured, and you know it. Nat would say you get off being reminded of the things you’ve already figured out. Stokes your genius.”

“Widow Barnes likes to remind me how much she despises me,” Tony remarked bitterly.

“I’d argue she’s fond of you and hates admitting it.”

He snorted. “Good one.”

Pepper merely sighed. “We’re all very proud of you Tony. This life isn’t a cheerful, you can't argue I don’t I know it. Timely likes keeping it's misery in reserve, but it’s too been striving to do better and so have you.”

He hated how her words failed to make him feel any better. Instead, he found himself stuck on how it wasn't just about him. Fisk's mess cost Pepper her fiance, a gentle-hearted man known as Happy Hogan. 

He should probably fix the electric clock he originally been promising.

“Drink your tea and eat something. I’m your assistant, not your nanny.” She said, leaving him to his ghosts for the evening.

\---

The drink was harder to put back down having started right back up again. Except, instead of singing horribly in the street, he hummed tunes in the lap of his armor, hiding safely away inside the workshop.

  
\---

“God Dammit I’m sick of this!” He yelled and threw his dining room table over. He threw the bottles, the glasses, all of it. He was bordering drunk, and everything still hurt deep inside his bones.

_That was the fucking point, wasn’t it!?_

He drowned in whiskey to numb the pain but it numbed fucking nothing. There was no liquid courage, no nothing, not anymore. He drank to stifle the anxiety but was still hiding away like some pariah afraid to face society. He drank and he was still so terrified to even look at Steve in the face.

He kicked the unbroken bottles out the door and suddenly felt winded, picking one up and ripping off the cork, sliding down against the post. He’d kicked out his flask too, empty as his stomach.

Footsteps echoed behind him.

“Go away, Pep,” Tony said, too exhausted for whatever it was she wanted.

“I politely asked her to step out on this one,” Steve answered, draping himself on the door frame. His voice was deep and soft, gentle, like all the times he’d helped Tony find his bed in the middle of the morning.

“Sheriff,” Tony said. He stared at the bottles, idly arranging them so they were flat on the ground in a desperate attempt not to run. He was getting better. He was trying. Maybe he was hiding instead of running this time, but God, he was trying.

“I love you,” He blurted. _Idiot._ This was the exact reason he was here in the first place. _A fucking idiot._

Steve chuckled, “I missed you too. Miserably, you know." Tony heard him cross his arms. "I think I’m driving Red Wolf and Nat crazy asking about you all the damn time. See, they assured me keeping my distance till you were ready was sound advice. Sure, maybe a week or two, but now I'm just hurt.”

“I...” Tony tried saying. “I don’t know what I’m thinking anymore Steve. I hate looking back and seeing my mistakes, but how do I function anymore without--” He lifted the bottle in his hand, “Without this? Dammit, I can believe I just told you I love you."

“That makes me feel so much better,” Then Steve was sitting down next to him, removing the bottle from Tony’s grasp. “I spent months on the brink of death with an infected wound and a punctured lung hoping you all were alright. Turns out it was going to be okay. Fisk and Roxxon got what they deserved, and you.” Steve breathed deeply, “Well, and you came out of it unharmed, toting a giant medieval battle machine over there.”

Tony shrugged helplessly. “He shot you, Steve. He shot you dead. What was I supposed to do?” Well, the cat was out of the bag now, he supposed. “I was going to kill them all or die trying. It was the least that I … It was the least I could do, for you.”

Steve kissed him, threading his fingers through Tony’s oil greased hair. “Next time I’m telling Nat to piss off.” He said seconds after.

Tony blinked in confusion, dazed. “I’m, I’m sorry?” He latched his hands onto Steve’s shirt, clinging so tightly as if he might die should he let go. His skin tingled where Steve started caressed a thumb along his jaw.

“You don’t need to be scared of me or whatever it is you’ll think I’ll do. I’ve had the time dwell these past months, same as you. And I’ve realized I’ve loved you too. I’ve always loved you, too.” Steve said. He squinted his eyes. “But I’d like to note you’re an insufferable jackass.”

“Thanks.” Tony dove in, initiating another, much longer and all-together far better, kiss. “And you’ll do well to let me sob all over you as I continue to panic because I’m convinced I’ve succeeded in getting so drunk I’m delusional.”

Steve touched his thumb to Tony’s eye. “There’s no need to for you cry, is there?” He grimaced.

“It’ll be happening, trust me. You and Pep are dumping all the bottles out in the dirt and setting that safe on fire. Cryings all I’ve got left, otherwise I’m going to I’m going to blister my hands wasting my well-paid iron.”

“Come on.” Steve helped him up, “I’ve dreamt about holding you in my arms long enough. I’ll get us some water and we can figure it out in the morning.”

“Okay,” Tony said, resigning, all the anxiety washing out of him. He was gonna be cranky for days, and would probably succeed in driving Steve mad like he so often did Pepper on the harder days. “As long as you love me.”

“I do.” Steve promised.

It wasn’t a cure, and it’d be a mess and hard work. But Steve was alive. They toughed it together before, they could tough it together tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.

Steve was alive, and Steve was helping water to his lips and pressing close to him because loved him. Steve was alive and he loved him. 

"Careful with my coat. Something..." He said as Steve rearranged the sheets on his bed. "Tomorrow. I'll explain tomorrow." He decided, fumbling to get his shoes off.

Steve nodded, breaking into a smile. "It's a deal."

Unfortunately, then he vomited on Steve’s shirt, the water failing to stay down. 


End file.
